It always started with screaming, but it often ended in silence — for days or weeks.
On this particular night, I was in the kitchen when it started. I was about 14 years old. I don’t remember what made my father angry, but I know it was minor. It was always minor with him.
I might have used a tone he didn’t like. I might have forgotten to take out the trash. I might have forgotten to put a load of clothes into the dryer. As an adult, I now understand these are fairly minor things, but when I was a child, everything I did wrong was a cardinal sin — when he was in this mood.
I always forced myself to be completely calm. I wore a blank expression. Any sign of disagreement with him — or talking back to him in any way — would increase his fury. All I could do was stand like a statue and hope it would end soon.

‘This path leads to somewhere I think I can finally say, I’m home’
Economic Man needs no heart, because love and God are dead
My bad teen poetry suggests I’ve always hungered for missing love
NTSB demands states ban all phone use for drivers, even hands-free
AUDIO: We rarely realize we’re wasting our lives ’til it’s too late
3 years after my father’s death, happy memories getting stronger
I’ve now launched a new podcast about search for love and family
Be very afraid of men (or women) who question your patriotism
Maybe it’s so hard to love others because we don’t love ourselves